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A Mission of Medicine
Whitehaven - ''' ---- ::''Known locally as the "Grand Exchange", Whitehaven is considered to be the central-most district of the city of Light's Reach, being little more of unique interest than a collision of overspill from the Noble District of Starmantle to the north, and the Freelander District of Redwater to the south. ::''Thus it is not uncommon to see red-brick and flax-stone estates across from half-timber and white-stucco townhouses, with minor Nobles forced to endure living as neighbors to successful merchants. The social divide is still quite obvious, but suffering the injustice of having to live in a mansion across the road from a family of Freelanders is often considered worth it to by most just to say that they live in Light's Reach. ::''It is the middle of the district from which the term "Grand Exchange" comes, however, for it is here that a large ring-road can be found surrounding the rebuilt Mikin Hall, connecting to the main through-fares that runs from the districts to the north, east, and south. It is around this ring-road that the Whitehaven Stables can be found, as well as the Interdistrict Carriage Hub and the headquarters for the Fastheld Courier Service's cavalry and distribution network. ::''The road heads up a gentle slope as it heads west towards Dawnstar Keep, ascending to the elevated western rise upon which the Keep, the Temple of the White Dragon, and the Southern Aria reside. ---- "Night at this point, I think. First watch soon." Lucius taps his helm. "Gotta be careful." He smirks, turning briefly to the stablemaster. "Bring 'em out to the carriage and have him hitched, please. Someone'll be joining me." His head shifts back to Taran. "Don't often see you in Light's Reach. Didn't think ya liked not being in touch with your... well, Touch." It's hard to tell, in the shadows of the cloak, just what Taran might think of that. But his tone is somewhat surprised. "...I like the city. It's a bit sterile in terms of architecture, but quite peaceful. No...it just has too many nobles for my taste, is all. The more fool me for seeking one out now, but...even nobles can be experts." "Nobles rule the Kingdom." Lucius states bluntly. "Who you looking for?" From the west, a procession of five horses come trotting deftly through the dark. The lone moon above sheds a fair degree of light, unhindered by the clouds, but lanterns are still lit to swing and bob from their mounts to guide their path. Gleaming breastplates boast the insignia of the griffon - the Valoria House Guard. Taran turns, as the group of House Guard comes clattering into view, and there's a just barely audible sigh. "That one, I think. I need the advice of a healer...Rowena is rumored to have earned the Masterhealer's title on skill rather than blood. I do not know how much time I have." "She brought me back from the dead when no one else could. I can attest to that. Silverwyrm." Lucius explains, nodding at Taran. "Y'know, skill trades don't get earned by blood. Dunno what Fastheld you grew up in." He kind of gives Taran the hairy eyeball, but then looks towards the procession and approaches. "Slow and steady!" Comes a muffled, half-hearted cry from somewhere amidst the hooved party and the horses are slowed to a gradual plod as they near the carriage hub. A couple of the mounts disagree via snorts and quiet whinnies, stomping their hooves in eagerness to move on. "There is our fifth man," a more feminine voice announces to the rest of the group and with a jostling of the reins, a black paso fino with white starburst on the muzzle is directed out of the line. Umbrus marches towards the front to close the distance between the approaching man and party while his rider looks ever on, her head held erect beneath Forte's shine. An Argentite dragon maw bows in Lucius' direction as Rowena lowers her arm, extending it to the man as a goodwill gesture. "My letter rode true, then?" There is a pause, the hooded scarecrow still as a stone...then a low laugh. "Let it never be said that Serath lacked for sartorial taste," he says quietly. He bows, from the waist, then straightens and tugs back his hood with his free hand. "Your grace, a healer asks a few moments of the Masterhealer's time. I have a patient whose illness is beyond my ability to treat." Lucius Nepos bows first at the sight of the former Mongoose head herself, deeply and respectfully. "Y'grace, it did." Once he's risen, he salutes the senior officer with a clenched fist over his heart. The thump is dull on his segmented breastplate. "I guess my days as infantry are over and my days as cavalry are starting true, here. Well, for now, anyways." He remarks, mainly to himself, then steps back to let Taran conduct business. Returning her hand to lay over its mate in her lap, Rowena nods with a fading smile at Lucius and lets her attention shift to Taran. "An adventurer, bard, treasure hunter, /and/ healer in one body's package," She appraises, tugging Umbrus' reins to a full halt. The horse bobs his head forward then swings it around to question her action. Ignoring the beast, she shifts a mite noisily in the saddle to lean nearer with interest towards the tall man. "What precisely is it that ails your patient?" Taran bows again, with a somewhat clearer laugh. "I am a true bard, your grace, and that encompasses all else I might ever be, for what is a bard if not a student of the world?" The smile fades then, and he says, "I am an accredited healer, your grace, but this illness is beyond me. If rumor is believed then she has what has been plaguing the lands hereabout - coughing, fever, a...matter in the lungs that makes breathing difficult. It is too soon yet to say if she will develop the sores, but it resists my febrifuges and expectorants. I am trying now some of the Wildlands plants that have medicinal properties, but I cannot bring down the fever. I thought perhaps your grace would know what would work." This is all way beyond Lucius's expertise. His only knowledge of healing is the patching and care of wounds and injuries, not disease. HE does listen though. "Where is she now and where has she hailed from recently?" Rowena blurts, encompassing Taran with her affamed, tenacious stare. Her hands are already at work behind and alongside of her, unbuckling straps and tugging at strings to loosen bag flaps. "How long has she been ill?" Taran spreads his hands. "She rests in the Southern Cross, in Crown's Refuge, your grace," he says calmly. "As to how long...it is but a few days since she could no longer hide the symptoms. She was in Lightholder before that, I believe. A few days ago the coughing grew severe enough that she could no longer pass it off as a cold; I insisted on an examination then, and have kept her to her bed. Lack of appetite appears to be among the symptoms." Lucius Nepos moves to go get Haste from the other side of the stable. He dissapears for a few minutes. "Lightholder..." Rowena murmurs, brow furrowing. Twisting awkwardly around behind her, she rummages through a satchel and procures a few pieces of parchment. Shuffle shuffle. "Freehaven, Sweetwater, Trademeet - has she visited any of these places? What is her profession, if I may inquire?" Arching a brow to the man over the pages, she holds her breath, waiting. Meanwhile, a couple of the guards join the route of Lucius' thought and head for the carriage to discuss routes with the driver. "It is possible, even likely," says Taran quietly. "She is a bard, and we travel when we are well enough to. She thought it was a cold. But she has said her niece is ill with the sickness." Lucius is still not here. "It's quite possible that she has contracted it if she's been exposed, I suppose," Rowena mutters, stuffing a couple pieces of the parchment back into their hiding place. "She's suffered a cough for nigh a week at least - and a fever. There's relief to be had then in the slowness of the illness' progression. Had it been another dark pox outbreak, she'd be blistering if not dead by now." With a matter-of-fact sigh, the Duchess lurches suddenly aside and shoves her torso forward a bit futher than necessary to pull and fold her right leg over the saddle in attempts to dismount. Clearly this one's not too familiar with riding in a)snug, leather trousers, and b)bits of armor. The process over the next few seconds is a mite less than graceful, but the end result lands her on her feet well enough. Tugging her long coat's hem off the saddle behind her, Rowena ducks her flushed cheeks aside and pokes through another pocket in the backpack. Taran watches the efforts with some surprise. "I only came to seek advice from the Masterhealer," he says slowly. "...Are you willing to come to see her, then?" Lucius Nepos pokes his head back around the corner and frowns as he catches the tail end of the bard's remarks. Rowena chuckles briefly to that, lips twisting with a wry smile. "The wildlands, Refuge included, are not going to witness my arrival in any near future. They /were/, some time ago, but...well, that journey was once again denied." Clearing her throat, she procures a couple tiny, leather packets and tosses them to Taran. "We ride to the heart of this matter. I'm not so convinced that nature is entirely responsible for disease, this time. But if she is, I will recommend a blend of sage, tingleleaf, and aenitshield herb concoctions. Sage smoke is a thing of blessing for those plagued with troubled lungs - his Late Majesty included, as he was a life-long sufferer of such things. Grind the tingeleaf into a paste and mix the juices with her tea. The taste is terrible, but any fool with half your creativity can surmise an additive to remedy a fouled tongue. It will keep the fever's delerium at bay and if she chews some sage leaves morning, noon, and night, the heat will be driven out." Taran reaches out a hand to catch the packets, bowing. "I will see to it. At what point should I return, an these remedies also fail?" Lucius Nepos returns to the general area where the Royal Healer and Taran speak. The soldier clasps his hands behind his back and says, "Caravan's ready, y'grace. Your horse and mine are gonna be led by the carriage, and the four House Guards are gonna form a perimeter around." He states. Rowena fishes out the final packet and extends it in her palm. "Patience is greatest weapon that any healer can wield. If in a week she's not improved, or if at any time her condition seems deteriorates severely, do not hesitate to seek me out. I would recommend, as a precaution, keeping her isolated. Now, this aenitshield - use with caution. A very dilute tea is usually the best form and will help to purify her insides. Use too potent a batch or too frequently and you /will/ kill her." All humor has left the Royal Healer's visage on that note, her fingers tensing around the mixture as it hovers in the air. Rowena glances very briefly to Lucius with a nod. Taran smiles wryly. "I am a healer, your grace. I will take care. Light guide you." He tucks the packet away with the others, and then tugs up the hood. Just another travelworn scarecrow, heading west. "If you cannot find traces of me, Taran," Rowena adds, tying down the flaps of the bags and checking the security of all packs, "Search for Maeve Downwind in Lightholder. She is to be entrusted above all." A humble bow of her chin punctuates that remark and she pats Umbrus on the jaw. A longer, more hopeful look is offered to Lucius. "Shall we be off, then?" Rowena takes Umbrus's reins and leads the horse along. "Y'grace." Lucius says, nodding at the woman and motioning out to the carriage. He evidently expects her to lead the way. ---- '''Carriage - 15541 ---- ::This carriage passenger compartment is rather cozy and informal, with a pair of shardwood benches facing each other and open windows on either side that can be somewhat inconvenient during inclement weather. ---- "Taran's tale has only made stronger my inclination to venture first to Lightholder," Rowena says to Lucius as she climbs carefully inside the carriage. "It will be safer, at any rate, to investigate from the outer fringes of this disease's spread. You again have my gratitude for accompanying me on such short notice." Unfolding herself as much as possible to rest comfortably inside, Rowena leans her head back to rest delicately against the fabric of the interior. Lucius Nepos nods at Rowena. "Not a problem, y'grace." He doesn't bother to remove his helmet or get more comfortable than taking his rucksack off of his back and laying it on the floor of the cabin next to his feet. "I was going to originally check something out up north, but this is more important. I'd no real direction with that, anyways. Not much use without orders or a contract." He grins. "Y'know, I wouldn't have said this, y'grace but.. I'd heard from more than one person that the Pox was caused by someone in particular." He looks around, somewhat nervously. "Think maybe this disease is a Church one?" The carriage strikes a bump in the road. "I'm not convinced that the proximity of its origin laying almost precisely where the Church's first nefarious dealings with apothecaries and poisons began is entirely born of coincidence." Answers the Duchess, staring ahead through a veil of closed lashes as the carriage rocks to and fro. The mail vibrates a tinkling melody against her belly as the carriage bumps, forcing her torso to clench repeatedly in efforts to ward off the tickling sensation it elicits. She would not make a habit of dressing like this, no. With luck and faith, she would not have to. "Well, Light be with us to make sure it's not dangerous. If we're attacked, y'grace, I don't mean to alarm you, but six isn't much. We've no idea what people are thinking there." Lucius comments, clutching his rucksack tightly. After a while longer, the carriage stops. Nepos opens the door and jumps out, pulling his rucksack off the carriage and onto his back once his feet are on the ground. Then he swings around to open Rowena's door and help her down. ---- '''Lightholder Carriage Hub - ' ---- ::The mainline Carriage Hub of the township of Lightholder is a large station built of polished redwood and flax-hued riveroak timbers that acts as both a hub of transportation within the Empire, but also as a place where carriages can be constructed and repaired when not in use. ::''Like many other carriage stops in Fastheld, this carriage hub is not only roofed, but also mostly indoors, with carriages stored in coach-house styled bays until needed to ensure that wealthy Nobles and pragmatic Freelanders alike need not be subjected to the elements while waiting for a carriage to take them to where they need to be. The scent of leather and timber hangs in the air without every really being unpleasant, reminding those who wait here of the dual-role that the Carriage Hub serves, while one might occasionally get a glimpse of carpenters delivering various parts for construction, blacksmiths delivering metal rims and bolts for wheels and carriage axes, and - if one is lucky enough - brand new carriages, freshly painted, being rolled out for distribution. ---- "If we are attacked, then the offenders will have signed their death warrants before they strike the first blow," Rowena cooly responds, accepting the aid in climbing out. Her exit from the carriage is still far more fluid than her drop from the horse, so not all dignity is lost. Straightening out slowly, she massages some stiffness in her back with a hand and squints around to the horses. "Mercy is a trait to have sadly begun its fall from my name." "Death warrants don't much matter, y'grace, if none of us are there to sign 'em." Lucius answers, somewhat glumly. "Not trying to be a downer, but that's the realism of it - s'not like the Light itself is gonna shield us." Nepos vaults into Haste's saddle by way of stirrups, after the horse is untied, and slings his leather covered shield over his arm. The wicked looking barbed spear he's got comes out, too. "I s'pose I'm more of a personal bodyguard, y'grace? Or am I under your lieutenant of the guard here?" A funny smile traces across Rowena's lips in response to something said midway through his speech and she averts her eyes to meet those of her guardsmen. They encircle the pair and keep a vigilant eye on the hub, as little activity as there is at this hour. "You may serve as you're best utilized, Lucius," Rowena murmurs indifferently as she frees Umbrus from the rear of the carriage. Her climb into the saddle is a bit more slow and painstaking. "Once we rest for the night, I've something for you to drink. The other men have already had their doses. Consider it a precautionary measure." "I'm sure it'll taste awful and make me strong as a bull, y'grace." Answers Lucius, grinning handily. He waits for the Lieutenant to lead the way, positioning his own horse to flank Umbrus. "One would hope," Echoes Rowena back as she adjusts her weight in the saddle. Umbrus nickers softly, twitching his withers as her hands pat at them. "Lieutenant?" She asks of the older gentleman atop his mount. Smiling through another disheveled lock of graying hair, the man bows his head and clip-clops his horse around. The others join in formation, riding in front, behind, and on either side. The closely packed group moves as one then, pending cooperation from the horses as they leave the hub for the crossroads. ---- '''Southwest Span - ' ---- ::The township of Lightholder is perhaps one of the most prominent locations in Fastheld. A well-maintained town with clean streets and a high standard of living, it is situated around the base of Caryas Hill upon the Imperial Isle, beneath the watch of the Royal Palace, it is surrounded on all four sides by the Lightholder River, though has flourished by virtue of being at the heart of all the trade routes and political developments in the Empire. ::''The buildings are usually timber-framed with wattle walls the color of clay, though a few stone buildings are also dotted around the place. The southwest span of the township - known as the Coach District - is especially robust due to the number of traveling Nobles and Merchants as they wait to visit the Palace or rest before heading on to other locations. ::''Of substantial note is the Lightholder Tavern, a large and sturdy no-nonsense stone structure with timber supports that has been rebuilt as many times as it has had owners. Having recently undergone renovation, it has since stuck a fine line between indulgence and pragmatic necessity, accommodating anyone that has coin to spare. ::''One might note that a exceptionally regal road of white cobbles ascends from this district to begin a clockwise-spiral around the edges of Caryas Hill itself. Known as the Palace Road, this wide route leads uphill to the gates of the Imperial Palace. ::''The Guild District of Lightholder rests on the southeastern span of the Imperial Isle towards the east, while the Merchant District can be found on the northwestern span in the north. The Lightholder River flows to the south and west, while Caryas Hill looms overhead in the northeast. ---- Atop Haste, Lucius Nepos continues to flank the Duchess of Fastheld's arguably most powerful House, keen on observation of the area around and not so keen on conversation at all. He rests the long spear on his lap, at a rest position. Up rolls another carriage to the stop. Clinging to the back is a dark garbed figure who drops off before it arrives, brushing over his pants with his hands, before wandering off into the city. "The better part of our journey begins in the day when the sun deems it more appropriate," Rowena notes, guiding the body of horses and men from its center as her mount gets directed this way and that. "But for tonight, I've arranged for private - if even a bit too cozy - lodging. It's been quite some time since I've paid visit to the woman's home, but, I believe there are yet three rooms." Atop Haste, Lucius Nepos isn't in much of a state to give a prolonged answer - in fact, there's only one word past his lips in reply to Rowena. "Y'grace." Ducking around a corner, and behind the backside of a particularly smelly horse, Wolfsbane enters the street with no small amount of grumbling, yanking his hood over his head. He eyes the lit street lamps suspiciously, avoiding their glow over the cobbles as much as possible, which likely just makes him rather conspicuous to anyone who cares to be watching. "There be a shriekweasel in the bush," Warns one of the ducal guard lowly to the others, gesturing vaguely with a finger at the distant form lurking between patches of light. Catching her breath to breathe a bit more quietly, Rowena turns her head also to look, her fingers tightening around Umbrus' reins with a heightened sense of alertness. The entourage continues to move towards the northern end of the crossroads to the cottages that perch yonder. Lucius Nepos isn't the most comfortable of forms atop the horse, especially now that things are a bit more tense. With a few of the ducal guardsmen checking out the form, Nepos continues to scan, avoiding that area totally. He slides the spear into its saddle holster, free hand falling to the pommel of his sword but not withdrawing it. As quiet as he might be trying to be, Vhramis encounters yet more of the horse on the street, boot squishing in a small pile of something unmentionable. His curse echoes through the street, the ranger dragging his heel against the cobbles to try to scrape off whatever he can. Not many people are out and about this late at night--past midnight, on a chilly night cooled by a quick breeze that tears at cloaks and carries the raucous sounds of the nearby tavern away across the street. Eerily, the sound of out-of-tune singing drifts far away from that building, disembodied voices that float through the streets, severed from their sources by the cutting wind. The wind carries with it the smell of horse manure, heady and thick from the direction of the stables and the carriage hub, mixed with hay and less pleasant things. Like the thing smeared across the bottom of Vhramis's boot. It also carries with it the distant sounds of someone coughing, and of footsteps which, in this would, could come from virtually anywhere. One of the guards barks a rather gruff laugh, slapping his thigh in amusement. He shakes his head to his comrades. "Not the most graceful of shriekweasels I've seen, lads. No matter. Let us hurry on then to yer Missus. I've heard wonderful things about her pies." The other guards grin in agreement, bobbing their heads casually while maintaining a scan of the surroundings. Keeping silent, Rowena favors to listen. A healer's ears will always perk at the sound of a cough and hers are no exception. Maintaining forward momentum, she does spare a long look around in attempts to identify the source. "Shut up and keep to business. For all intents and purposes, this is an ambush waiting to happen. I know you're not used to discipline when you pomp around in garrison, but spin those cobwebs out of your heads and act like professionals." Lucius dresses down the guardsmen rather bitingly, his eyes narrowed and breathing a bit faster than normal. He moves just as quickly as Rowena, keeping flank with her totally. After a sufficient amount of stomping to clean his boots, or at least as much as he can, Wolfsbane's attention turns to the riders headed away. Curiosity peaks, and he moves to fade into the shadows, set to follow the procession. There's a marked difference in his mannerisms, the man actually seeming to /try/ to be subtle, this time around. The cough sounds again--once, twice, and then cascading into a rough fit, followed by a thud as somebody leans against a wall to support themselves. Then there is a silence, punctuated only by the howl of the wind whirling through the streets. After a moment, the wind dies down enough for the location of the sound to be triangulated--it comes from a spot between two dwellings, not so very distant from the place where the little company walks. "A fine fifth," Grunts the Lieutenant, eyeing Lucius with a guarded sense of appreciation. The men mutter for a moment or two then lapse again into respectful silence. Expression dazed, Rowena looks-and listens-on as though she were worlds away from the present gathering. Umbrus dutifully carries her on. Squinting into the paths that yet remain unseen, Rowena sweeps a fallen tendril of braid from her eyes and rests one hand behind her on the saddle, fingers sliding into a pack. "There. Let us bank left for a moment - we are not too far from Maeve. We've time to spare." Lucius Nepos gives a brief nod to the Lieutenant as he slips out of the saddle, his spear forgotten there. Once appearing uncomfortable on horseback, he's now in his element as he keeps pace with those near him, free hand leading his mount's reigns. "Aye, y'grace." Wolfsbane continues along, keeping away from notice as he can. The coughing doesn't seem to give him much pause, though he does glance in the direction of the alleyway as he slips past one on his side of the street. As Rowena and those traveling with her grow close, they can make out a form in the shadows between the buildings--a man, by what can be seen, his back hunched and his shoulders slumped against the side of one of the buildings. One hand presses to his chest, as if in pain. He has not yet taken notice of those approaching, it seems. A rat scurries across Vhramis' path, a darting bit of shadow that detaches itself from the corners on one side of the street in order to make a wild dash across to the other side. As the wind picks up again, there is the heavy scent of manure once more. The leading guard follows Rowena's stare towards the hunched figure and with a sigh, directs his horse that way. The rest follow in total silence, noses twitching to the all-too familiar stench of horse droppings. The glow of lanterns and proud glint of breastplates make them an easy pack to follow and recognize. Once within earshot, Rowena calls her voice into the night. "You there! Master! Be it more than ale that finds you ill?" Lucius Nepos comes to a stop next to Rowena's horse, not bothering to try to look uninterested in the current surroundings, or the man in front. But the latter occupies attention of many of the guards, so Lucius generally looks elsewhere. He does stay close to Rowena, though, despite that she be several feet above him. Taking pause from the scurrying rat, Wolfsbane leans down to whisper something to it, though he doesn't seem to wait for any reaction. He passes the alley, nose wrinkling in distaste at the scent, before pausing and considering the goings-ons from his location. Coughcough, hackhack. It is not a pretty sound. The man gasps at the air, one hand rising to massage his throat as he rests a moment after the latest fit. Miserably, he lifts his eyes to the coming visitors. "Aye, M'lady," he says, hoarse voice barely above a whisper. "Ah'm nae drunk." "Let me through," Rowena commands softly to the guard ahead and, like magic, the sea of horse butts parts for hers to step through. Marginally. Keeping atop her mount, she bows her circlet to the coughing man. "Let us have a look at ye. You may step out a bit into the light, there's no need to hide. How long have you felt this way?" Lucius Nepos drapes Haste's reigns over the horse's neck and then steps to follow Rowena, keeping two or three metres away from her. He can only watch, after all. The ranger across the street in the shadows sighs to himself, looking back to attempt to locate his rodent aquaintance. The man steps forward into the light, revealing himself to be aging, middle-aged with a wiry build and a narrow face contorted with the pain of his coughing. "Mayhaps a week, but surely no more 'an that, M'lady," he manages. At first, there is apparently no sign of Vhramis's rat friend. The typical squeaks of rats at night echo through the streets, but no actual *sight*. At least, not until the pink, whiskered nose twitches from one of the nearby shadows. Lucius Nepos gives the man a quick nod in greeting, but nothing else. No, the soldier fellow is more interested Lightholder itself, it seems, much to the detriment of the actual visible people around him. Besides, he's not much of a healer. "Where had your travels taken you during that week and prior to it?" Rowena inquires further, studying the human specimen with a hawkish gaze. Her mind, to be judged from the stare, is whirling at its quickest pace. "Your coughing - is it the only pain to wrack your chest? Have you fever? Sores? What other than water is thrown from your lungs?" To demand so much information from one who can hardly speak may seem indeed cruel, but it is necessary. Still, compassion does dwell in her gaze and in a tone a bit more gentle, she adds "I've come to learn of what ails you and much of these cities. If there is anything I can do, I will help." Surprisingly (or maybe not so, considering it's him), Wolfsbane brightens a bit at the appearance of that quivering nose. He murmurs again towards the rat, crossing his arms at his chest. The man draws up his sleeve, nodding and trying to suppress further coughs as he displays a speckling of sores on his arm. "Headache... chills," he manages. "There's some strange... stuff... 'at come from mah chest sometime... when Ah cough. Ches' 'urts all th' time." That nose twitches at the sound of Vhramis' voice, poking a little further into the moonlight from the shadows. A pair of beady black eyes follows it, and soon, a foot. The sight of sores draws a sharp breath from Rowena's throat and she tenses atop the horse. Likewise, all eyes from the guards are, for the briefest of moments, on the man. "You've not met any strange individuals, have you? Where is it you draw your water from? Your food?" The ranger continues muttering to the rodent as it emerges more so, the man rocking on his heels slowly. Nothing overly urgent appears to be happening. Just a simple back and forth between individuals of like minds. Lucius Nepos isn't really listening to the conversation. Or he doesn't appear to be, anyways. "A well..." The man stops there and doubles over, coughing violently into his closed fist until he spits some sort of phlegmy stuff out on the ground. "Nae, nae strangers... garden, farm... Please, Lady, 'ave yeh anythin' fer this cough?" A second foot joins the first furry paw on the road as the eyes gain shape in a face, peering curiously out at Vhramis with something bordering on uncertain trust. Ears follow the eyes, and soon an entire head is visible, cocked peculiarly to the side to consider the ranger. There's only so much that can be said to a rat. Especially one that isn't really talking back. Vhramis scratches at the back of his head, peering at it, before speaking his farewell and turning to wander away. That's precisely what she wanted to see. Eyeing the spittle as it splatters over its final resting place, Rowena nods quietly to herself. "I do, but I cannot guarantee /yet/ that it will bring you cure. Relief, yes." Blinking out of her seeming daze, the Duchess moves around in the saddle and fishes out two leather packets - one with a green string and one with a blue. "Burn the green string and inhale the smoke," She orders, tossing it at the man. "From the blue, fix a tea. Your lungs should find greater clarity and your chills will abate. Tomorrow, when the sun has just passed its peak, I want to meet you here again." The man nods, catching the strings with quavering hands and bowing low. "Th-thank yeh, M'lady. Very kind. Very... generous. Ah will meet yeh here--as yeh say." Clutching the packets to his chest as if they are some commodity more precious than gold--or maybe even life itself--he starts off down the alleyway towards what is doubtless his home. The rat seems to have similar thoughts in mind, those quick black eyes watching Vhramis move away. It squeaks, faintly, before turning tail and fleeing into the shadows. ---- ''Return to Season 8 (2008) Category:Logs